Anthem
by Amarielle
Summary: Yugi never could be considered ‘normal.’ However, as the years begin to pass, the residency of his alter ego Yami within the corridors of his mind will begin to test even Yugi’s threshold of the bizarre.
1. exit music

It's my Yami's birthday today.  Well, not his actual birthday, of course—it's the two-year anniversary of the day I solved the Millennium Puzzle.  Naturally, I didn't know Yami was there for quite a while.  And even then, I was pretty afraid of him.  Who wouldn't be afraid?  I'd find myself without control of my own body—hearing voices and everything.  I'd come to and not remember much of anything.  I thought I was going insane.  And then I made the connection.  

I realized that my solving of the Puzzle marked the arrival of this strange presence.  I couldn't understand.  I felt so alone—never knowing when he'd take over, what he wanted.  I didn't know myself at all.  I was terrified every day.  And then there was the incident with Kaiba on the rooftop at Duelist Kingdom.  I couldn't be responsible for someone's death.  I wouldn't stand by and allow someone to be hurt—even a jerk like Kaiba.  So I fought against the presence I could barely even explain.  I tore away from the warmth his voice sparked in my mind, and it hurt.

Nothing before or since has hurt nearly as much as going against Yami.  It was like a rug burn all over—a rug burn on sandpaper.  It was like staring straight into the sun after coming out of the dark, and your eyes physically ache from the harshness.  It was being without, and I don't ever want to feel that again.  Yami was ashamed of what he'd put me through then, he told me later.  He's strange that way.  I'll just be sitting in class doing my work, quietly thinking to myself, and he'll suddenly burst out with some profound revelation—"I hesitated in becoming your aibou because I knew you would not want me," or "I felt your light the moment you were conceived."

He's rather intense, and it frightened me at first, but now I'm used to it.  I like it—the intensity, the attention.  I like the way he protects me from everything and wants me all to himself.  It should be selfish of him, but somehow it's right.  I like the way he pines, the way he clings to me like a lifeline—as if, should he let go, I'd run away or disappear or break somehow.  It's an incredible feeling—the feeling of absolute safety and belonging.  I wouldn't want it any other way.  I can't get enough of it.

At the start, he kept his distance.  He spoke formally and at arm's length.  As time passed, however, and he oriented himself to me and began to see how I wasn't afraid of him, his confidence grew.  He began to step closer when he spoke to me.  He began to speak less and stare more.  He spent more and more time in my soul room, though it's small and bright and completely foreign to him.  Eventually, he just stayed—like he couldn't bear for me to be out of his sight, although we're never truly apart and can always feel each other's presence.  

But I didn't mind at all.  I didn't even mind the first time I woke up and saw his image right next to my bed, violet-crimson eyes staring straight into mine.  I had no need to be afraid.  I smiled, and he smiled back—just a grin, but it was the first time he'd ever given me as much.  I'd heard amusement in his voice before, but I'd never actually seen it—the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, the vague tightening high in his cheeks, the crease under his lower lids which slid over the whites of his eyes to cradle warm violet irises. 

After that moment, the changes taking place in him began to show more frequently and unreservedly.  It was as if he'd been hiding his true nature under a façade of regal indifference that whole first year he was in my life.  For the first time, he felt that he could be himself with me, and that I wouldn't judge him or try to distance myself from him.  Of course, Yami the Pharaoh remained regally indifferent, but Yami the regular human being began to surface.  I slowly found that I could recognize an ordinary personality in him—a boy who had been king without so much as knowing himself, a soul long trapped and saddened by years of silence and cold, and a hardened heart that had finally begun to remember life.

He'd spent thousands of years in darkness and exile, defenses drawn where needed and, in other places, forgotten altogether.  Now he was finally able to acclimate himself to another human being, me, and he acclimated fast—maybe too fast.  The changes and the differences all around him began to deafen him.  In trying to reintroduce himself to the world, he became frightened.  He began to cling.  He was still strong and merciless in the dueling arena and in his protection of me.  He's still never failed in turning a cold glare on his opponents.  

But the coldness summoned in the arena has ultimately shell-shocked him.  He can't make the distinction between war and social life—he always finds himself on the defensive.  He feels awkward and lonely in the outside world, so he rarely takes over anymore.  He's numb.  And he's alone.  And, with this in mind, I often sympathize with him.  I never duel anymore.  I find no need, and I know that, whenever I hold my deck or flip through its weathered cards, Yami mourns.  He grieves the ancient warriors and riddles of his past.  I feel so sorry.  I wish I could help him.

He's grown very quiet lately, and he always stays by my side, his apparition fabricating only when I am alone.  He is rather sullen.  All he desires is to be near.  He began to stare less and touch more—just a hand on my arm, fingers through my hair, forehead resting between my shoulder blades.  Hands on mine, hand on my stomach as I sleep, just to assure himself I'm still here—that I'm not going to leave him, that he's not alone.  And sometimes I lie awake in my soul room and he lies very close and thinks I'm asleep and he cries as he touches me and holds me and his tears fall on my arm, on my neck, through thick, dark lashes that brush my skin.

I never speak of such things—never to him, never to my friends or Grandpa.  It's none of their business.  They wouldn't know what to do, anyway, no more than I.  So I keep quiet about it and quiet about him and they all assume he stays locked away in his soul room, ignorant of me and ignorant of whatever happens to me.  I don't think any of them have seen him in over six weeks.  It's okay, though.  They wouldn't understand—they don't need to.  If I told them how intense he is, or how sad he is, they'd probably try to take him away from me.  I don't ever want that to happen.

There was a time I was confused about what Yami feels for me.  It's foolish, but I have to admit.  I couldn't sort it out for the longest while—the fierce loyalty in his eyes, his desire for nearness.  The thought crossed my mind that—jeez, I know it's stupid, and I never mentioned anything, but I think he knew.  Maybe the thought entered his mind, too.  I don't know.  Either way, I questioned my beliefs and myself for him.  I was almost ready to compromise everything, because he means so much to me, and I know I'm all he's got.  But I really had no basis for that assumption.  I know Yami loves me.  He says it all the time in the way he cares for me and looks out for me and holds me.  There is a word, I know, in some forsaken language, to describe it.  The love for an aibou is very different from the love for a son, a brother, a lover.  It's hard to explain, and I'm uncomfortable just thinking about it, but there's a mutual understanding between us.  Not quite just friends, not anything else I can easily name.  That's all that matters, and we're stronger for it now.

Yes, my Yami may be intense.  He may be sad, and alone, and estranged from all he once knew.  He may be intimidating to those who don't know him, and a constant mystery to those who do.  He may be terrified and weary and wary of everyone and everything that's not his aibou.  He may be silent and troubled and brooding, but he's my hero.  He's my Yami.  And, though he's my sole protector, in my own ways, I sort of protect him, too.  He defends me, but in me, he finds a solace in which he can hide his dark eyes from the harshness of the world.  I know what it's like to be without, and I never want either of us to feel that way again.

He still keeps up his profound revelations from time to time, as he lies with me and cries and whispers ancient prayers into my hair.  He still finds comfort in a hand on my waist as he blinks sleepless eyes into the night.  And oftentimes, I'm the one to reach for his hand just to assure him.  I'm the one to smile without thought of return.  I'm the one to engage him in pointless conversation, just to exercise his commanding voice and to make sure it still speaks with tenderness only to me.  I'm selfish that way.  I love his voice.  I want to soak it all up like a sponge, so no one else can hear.  I want it all to myself—every syllable and whisper and sob.  Yami is my Yami and there's no one else I'd rather share my sanity with.  The first two years with him have been the best years of my life, and I look forward to many more.  

This will probably mess me up for good.  He will probably ruin me for any other serious relationships.  I know it's not the same, but I don't think I'll ever marry.  I couldn't try to dedicate my heart to some girl while it's still Yami's territory.  I won't do that to him.  He deserves my undivided attention.  The road will be long and lonely, but I'll have my friends.  I'll have Grandpa, and a career, and a life.  And Yami.  Most importantly, I'll have Yami.


	2. fitter, happier

It's been another year.

He doesn't speak anymore.

Sometimes it makes me sad, the way he shuts himself in, the way his spirit is broken. A word comes to mind—domesticated. He's like a tame dog. "Here, Yami." "That's good, Yami." "No, put the knife down, Yami—good boy." It makes me very sad. What happened to the tower of strength I saw him as? It's like loneliness is a cancer, and it is killing him. And what's worse is that I don't know how to stop it. I use a system of rewards for obedience now, but how long will it last? When will the day come when even my company is not enough? It frightens me.

My Soul Room is alive. The walls stretch with my breathing. I never noticed it before. Sometimes he's here with me, sometimes he pins me down on the floor with his weight, because he doesn't want me to leave. "I have to, Yami. I slept past my alarm clock. Let me go." He doesn't. "Yami, I said let me go." The dog obeys timidly, and sits straight and attentive until I will return. Sometimes I don't want to return. Sometimes I want to stay away, to never sleep and barricade myself because his obsession frightens me.

He has a power that scares me. In the little things. I was upset one day, because the girl I asked to the senior prom turned me down. Yami said his first words in a long time, and I'll never forget them. He said, "Someone upset you. Tell me who she is. She made you mad, I can make her cry." I was absolutely shocked. "No," I said. "Just because I'm upset doesn't give us the right to injure her." He didn't say anything else. He hung his head, like a dog that's been struck. He cowered and brooded and tucked his tail between his legs. Yami, you were so glorious once. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And now you're this scared, intimidated creature. What happened to you?

It was Halloween. I went to a costume party, and met a cute girl. She was dressed as Catwoman. I was Lestat. We made out in the corner, and it was really nice. Then I don't know what happened, maybe he got jealous, and he took over when my tongue was in her mouth. He bit down. Hard. I came to sometime later, bleeding from my mouth and miles from home. Under a freeway with cars going by, I had an argument with myself. I was yelling at him, yelling at nothing as the cars drove by. A cop took me home because I didn't know where I was. He thought I was high, but I passed his little test. I was very, very angry with Yami. The dog cringed at my raised hand.

He locked himself up after that. He closed and sealed the door behind him as he slinked dejectedly into his Soul Room. He hates that place. He told me so. It's so big and dark and I'm not there. He was punishing himself by going in. I let him sulk. I thought it wouldn't last long, but when I didn't see him for a month, I got worried. Not about him. About me. About what he could do to me if I made him mad enough. His deification of me could so easily turn into seething hatred if he were pushed to it, and that thought alone scared me more than anything else in my life.

"Yami," I said, sitting in the hall outside his door and across from mine. "Come out now, Yami." No answer. Of course. I tried a lure. "Yami, it's your birthday today. If you come out, I'll give you a birthday kiss." Reward for obedience tactic. Keep the dog under boot. A long moment of silence, and then the door creaked open a little too loudly for this mental plane. I peered around the corner. He was plastered against the wall opposite of where I had been sitting. Like he knew I was there. His eyes were so dark. I smiled at him. "Hi there," I said. His eyes said nothing. I crept closer to him. "You okay?" Nothing. At length, his hand came up and his fingers brushed his cheek, at the corner of his mouth, entreating me for the fulfillment of my promised birthday kiss.

I obliged him. His skin was cold.

His fingers went up to his face again, this time to his lips, asking for another, please. "No, Yami," I told him sternly. "Just one." Apparently he didn't like this answer. His brow creased in displeasure, and he brushed his lips with his fingertips again. Insisting. Like a child. Sometimes I feel like I'm speaking to him in sign language. He signs for everything. _Stay with me, Aibou. Let me hold you, Aibou. Kiss me here and here, Aibou. _I shook my head fiercely. "No," I maintained. "You only get one birthday kiss. No more." He was on his hands and knees, and he looked so dangerous pulling himself along the floor to me. "Yugi," he said, and it was a whimper. He was begging.

And although I'm inclined to believe his actions were perfectly innocent, I still can't help wondering, what would he have done if he reached me, if I hadn't shot to my feet at that moment to try to seem threatening to him? He shied away like the dog he is, understanding suddenly that he'd done something bad, but what had he planned to do if he closed off the short distance? Take another kiss from me? Would it have been enough? Was he still angry that I'd made out with the costume party girl? Did he feel that base instinct to claim what he considers his own, like a dog marking his territory? In what manner did my dog intend to mark me? "Yami," I shouted, "No!" I made sure that my voice was harsh although I was shaking inside. I had to let him knew he'd made me angry, that he'd crossed the line and was never to behave so insolently again. I know he felt the weight of my words, because he wept.

I began thinking of him differently after that. I began seeing him in a different light. I used to think that Yami would never wish to harm me, that of all people, he'd be the first to defend and protect me, that he'd never go against my wishes and instead do everything in his power to give me whatever I want. It had all changed in that one moment. He showed me the animal he really is, the selfish part of him that's been there all along, that's come out now as a result of isolation, that's slowly consumed him, that looks at me and is hungry, and says _mineminemineminemine_...

I have never been so frightened by someone I love. I have never been so surprised by someone I thought I knew. How the tables have turned. How the roles have switched. I used to be the weak, scared one, and he was my strength, and my champion. Somewhere in the last year or so, he assumed the vulnerable, frightened nature, and I have had to become the one from whom he draws his strength, and it is sapping me of my energy. I am so tired. I miss the Yami I once knew. It makes me very sad to think that he will never come back, he will never be the same, because this is what he's always been under the mask, this is his default nature, which he's taken up now that he's burnt out on duels and conversation and _life_.

I will still hold out for him, of course, in hopes that he might come around and recover something of his old loving nature. I really have no other choice. It's not like I can do anything about him. I'm stuck with him, but it's okay, because it's always been like this.

And it always will be.


	3. Where I End and You Begin

I looked in the mirror today and saw him…

His stern brow and shadowed eyes glare back at me where I stand anchored to the tile of my bathroom after showering. Much to my amazement, I discover the leanness of his face in my own, and his familiar disapproving line of a mouth frowning at us both. And I wonder, as I survey his menacing and beautiful face in my reflection, when exactly it was that I became the physical manifestation of my darker alter ego. The more unnerving aspect of the matter is that am not entirely surprised by the revelation, almost as if I have been expecting it, as if I have known it was coming these past long months in which I noticed our distinct personalities intertwining into something vague and unwholesome.

The first behavioral anomaly that effectively disquieted me to my very core occurred one afternoon in which I intercepted a neighborhood cat molesting an injured mouse. After shooing the feline away, I plucked up the small gray rodent that clung to the earth, petrified with the shock of blood loss and pain. Cooing absently to it, I inspected the creature's mortal wound. One hind leg was obviously broken, contorted into a grotesque position at the mouse's side. There was a gash running across its belly, and a corresponding set of puncture wounds along the back, which I suspected was soundly broken. It looked as if the animal had at one point been shaken in the jaws of its feline tormentor. Knowing full well the fatality of the rodent's condition, I cupped it in my hands and prepared to hold it until its life escaped like all the blood smeared against my palms. I suppose the action of closing my hands around it roused the mouse from its stunned stupor long enough to trigger one last self-preserving reflex.

The poor dying animal bit me.

There was a moment of sympathetic calm within me before my brain ignited with fury. I could hardly believe it. I had driven away the cat to prevent this mouse from suffering and had decided out of the simple humanity of my heart to be there when it happened in hopes my presence might somehow comfort it on its departure. Here I was trying to help the pathetic beast, and it goes and bites me. Hard. The little monster.

A mad rush of irrational anger seized me. No one but no one strikes back at me when I've only tried to help. The mouse would pay now. I transferred the limp animal to the palm of one hand, where it trembled up at me as if gripped with remorse. Without blinking, I closed my hand around its feeble frame and squeezed. A terrible pause stretched on in which the little body in my hand gave with no resistance, a faint squeak issuing from between my fingers with growing emphasis until, with a crunch, it fell silent. Gore dribbled down my wrist, and I was suddenly incapacitated with disgust. With a startled yelp, I threw the broken vessel to the earth and tore my eyes from the spot where it landed, unwilling to look upon the destruction I had wreaked.

_Do not recoil_, said a dry voice in my head at that moment.

Blanching as the implication of what had occurred slowly dawned on me, I directed back into the waiting vaults of my consciousness, _Yami, why did I just do that?_

His answer disturbed me more than my dreadful action. With an edge of unfathomable amusement, he replied, _You are mine._

I understood at once, and in the same moment I wished I hadn't. Trembling, I raised my hands—_his_ hands, I realized—to inspect the dead creature's vital fluids and marvel with sick fascination the lesser murder we had committed. With my body, his will, and our rage, Yami and I had extinguished what life was left in the frail little mouse. That thought caused me more mingled exhilaration and shame than any other. We had killed. A rodent, no more—a much-less-than-sentient being driven only by unconscious impulses and with no higher calling—but a living creature nonetheless.

_What's happening to us?_ I would ask him over and over with no answer, although I knew the truth. He had already told me what was going on when he said I was his. I am his. And conversely, he is mine. We belong to each other in a way humanly impossible and yet I could see even then the signs of our mutual ownership. The way control would slip like honey between one and then the other, warping our external mannerisms from friendly to defensive within the blink of an eye.My outwardly behavior came to be regarded as bipolar.

We are not bipolar. That would have to mean Yami and I move in opposition, that we are constantly in discord like positive and negative poles, pushing each other away at the same rate that we are attracted. This theory is absurd. I have never felt so fluidly connected to Yami. Our bond had never been more mutual, like puddles of ink flowing one into another. There exists no line between us now, no boundary we honor, no distinction to tell us apart. The lines are crossed and uncrossed and crossing again until they become a common horizon between us, weaving our existences into one entity.

This no longer frightens me. It has been years in coming, and now that the consummation of our personalities has finally arrived, I have never felt more at peace with my situation. Our situation. Yami no Yuugi. Yuugi no Yami. One of the other and always both. We indeed belong to each other, and together we belong to no one.

I stand on the outside now and stare into a mirror that has already fogged over with steam from my recent shower, obscuring my reflection. I lift my hand—his hand—_our_ hand, and wipe away a long streak of the condensation. His dark and beautiful face stares back at me from the cleared strip of mirror, scowling at my unspoken musings.

_Yes, little one._

And then I know it istime to dress, to go downstairs and meet my family at breakfast, where I will smile and ask if someone could please pass the milk.


	4. the gloaming

The rain stings my eyes and I have to steady myself against the handle of the shovel. The pain is getting worse. It is as if a very wide, very blunt stake is being driven into the base of my skull.

I don't see the world anymore. I see shapes and color and the people I know, moving about in my soul room as if the real world were going on in there. Or maybe my soul room _is_ the real world and only now am I able to distinguish all this—the rain and the trees and the mud sucking at my shoes—as pretend; the unreal world. The farce.

I decide on a place as good as any, far enough into the trees that no one should see me. I try with no success to wipe the rain from my face. Gripping the wooden handle in both hands, I start the edge of the shovel into the sodden dirt and begin to dig.

One, two, three shovels full of mud I scoop aside. Sharp fingers of pain continue to throb inside my head as I work. Such a shame to pile up so much muck on the shining white floor of my soul room, but it will disappear before long. As soon as this task is finished and I can return home to a warm bed, then the mud and the rain will go away. Maybe it will all go away.

Seven, eight, nine shovels full of wet soil. The earth is drier and tighter down there, and I have to stomp the blade down into the dirt with my heel. Though the wind is chilled, I'm definitely beginning to feel warm beneath my clothes. My shirt clings to my skin, weighted down by rainwater and perspiration.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen shovels so far. The rain is stinging my eyes again.

_//What are you doing, aibou?//_ says the sweet and strong voice in my mind at that moment. In the world out here, the voice is oddly disembodied, an exquisite agony floating around somewhere in my already aching head as my shoulders strain with the effort of digging. In my soul room, the voice is physically and immediately behind my shoulder. The hair pricks on the back of my neck, but I don't dare turn around.

_/I'm digging a hole,/_ I answer.

Fifteen, sixteen shovels now. It's wide enough, but for my purposes I must make it deeper. I will not leave a shallow grave for the rain to wash away.

_//Indeed?//_ coos the voice. //_Let me see.//_

The pain is a pair of white-hot fingers hooking suddenly into my eye sockets. My fingers tremble violently; I fumble and nearly drop the shovel. Gasping, I lean heavily against the splintery handle.

_/Don't do that!/_ I snap at the other presence in my mind, and feel more than see Yami recoil. /_I told you to stop prying away the control! It hurts too much…/_

The voice murmurs some languid apology.

_/Never mind,/_ I say. _/Just leave the control with me where it belongs. And let me get back to work./_

Seventeen, eighteen shovels full of mud. The rain might actually be letting up.

_//Why are you digging a hole, aibou?//_ he asks.

For a wonderfully giddy moment I remember why I have come. But he cannot be bothered by the truth just yet. I'll have to lead him on for a while. Until I'm finished digging.

_/I have to get rid of something,/_ I tell him instead.

_//Oh? And what might that be?//_

His voice is the cold and beautiful muscle of a snake coiling itself around my body, gently caressing, ever clamping my airways shut. I'll black out if he doesn't let me breathe soon.

_/Something that's killing me,/_ I answer.

Nineteen, twenty shovels full.

_//Truly?//_ he exclaims, managing to sound shocked. _//Tell me what this thing is; I will help you to be rid of it.//_

I realize I'm laughing out loud and quickly stifle the sound. Anyone passing by in the park may not be able to see me through the darkness and the rain, but they could probably hear me if I get carried away.

_/No, Yami,/_ I reply/_I don't think you will help me this time./_

Twenty-one, twenty-two. The pain is nearly into my jaw now. This might be the worst it's ever been.

_//I will always help you, aibou,//_ he says as if he means it. //_Always.//_

I grit my teeth and continue to dig. It's getting difficult. There are rocks and the shovel refuses to cooperate. I must be streaming with sweat although the rain just swallows it up. I'll definitely need a shower when it's over.

Twenty-three, twenty-four.

_//Aibou? Aibou, why do you not answer?//_

There is something strange in his voice. Something…tolerant. I ignore that out of necessity. The rocks and the hard soil are breaking up beneath the blade of the shovel.

Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

_//Aibou?//_

Not now. I'm so close. I'm almost there. Don't talk to me now.

Twenty-seven. Twen—

His dark laughter makes me freeze mid-motion. The blade is buried in the dirt down there, the rain is in my eyes again, and Yami is laughing at me. The sound is infuriating, and yet it still sparks a thrill of pleasure that tremors downward through my chest and ends somewhere near my bladder. God, I hate it.

_//Why don't you put that thing down and go home, aibou. Enough of this nonsense.//_

In my soul room, I can feel his hand on the small of my back, silently urging me to comply with what suddenly seems to be perfect logic. I've gone rigid. I won't be talked out of what I came here to do. I set my jaw, ignoring the fire in my brain, and keep shoveling dirt.

Twenty-eight.

_//Now, now, little one. Be a good boy and do as I say. We both know you will not do this thing.//_

_/I will,/_ I say, and it comes out as more of a whimper than I'd prefer.

Twenty-nine.

He chuckles. In my soul room—the real world—he is very close. I can feel the heat of his body against my back. His arms slip around my torso—the throttling muscle of a snake—and when he speaks his voice is right next to my ear.

_//No, Yugi,//_ he says. //_You will not. No matter how much you think you want it, you cannot be rid of me.//_

Damn it!

I try to throw him off and drive the shovel into the dirt again. My eyes are flooding with something other than rain. My head is splitting right open and the only thing I can think is, oh God, how I can't hate him. But it hurts so much…

Thirty.

"I can, and I will," I say aloud, not caring anymore who might hear. I just have to end the pain. "I will bury you!"

_//No, Yugi,//_ he insists, and there is just enough hurt in his voice to be noticeable. //_No, aibou. You need me.//_

Snap, goes the tiniest shred of control I'd had over the situation.

I must have overestimated the force required to bury the blade of the shovel in the dirt; my wrist tingles with a numbness I assume will be pain once the adrenaline has worn off. Splinters as wide around as toothpicks are embedded in my palms, but I don't feel even these. The handle of the shovel trembles with the remnants of my blow.

"What?" I scream, and the fire kindles bright and hot inside my head. "Need you? I _need_ you? Why exactly do I need you, Yami? I've had nothing but heartache since you came into my life!"

_//You are mine.//_

"Stop it. Stop it! STOP IT! Stop saying that! I'm so sick of hearing you say that!"

Sometime during the last few seconds I dropped to my knees in the mud. My hands are clamped down over my ears, although I know it will not keep his voice out. The fingers boring through my brain are driving the hemispheres apart. I hear a strangled sob out there in the world, and realize to some dismay that it came from my lips.

_/It hurts, Yami. It hurts so much. I just want it to be over. Whatever it takes not to hurt anymore, I'll do it./ _

I nearly choke at this point. If the pain doesn't kill me, letting him go just might. Tears are streaming from my eyes and mingling with the rain on my cheeks.

_/Even if it means getting rid of you,/_ I manage to say at last, _/I'll do it./_

He takes a moment gathering his reply, and I can almost wrestle the fire down into something manageable. When he speaks again, his voice is very sad.

_//Oh, Yugi,//_ he says, _//this will not do.//_

Fury.

"You!" I scream, the knife of pain wrenching inside my skull. "You did this to me! You made me what I am! I can't even look at my own reflection without seeing you! All this time I spent with you only drove me further from my sanity. I don't even know who I am anymore. You did this! You did it, and I can't decide which is worse, the ghost of a person I've become—or the fact that I can't bring myself to hate you for it!"

My fingers grapple with the chain around my neck and wrest the Millennium Puzzle from its place against my chest. He is suspiciously silent within the waiting corridors of my mind that seem to reverberate with the throes of my agony.

"So you think you know what's best for me?" I sob into the darkness of the world out there and the bright walls of my soul room in here. "I've finally figured it out! Watch _this_, Yami—it ends now!"

My arm swings a wide arch and the Millennium Puzzle shatters upon contact with the blade of the shovel, still half-buried in the dirt. The breaking of the puzzle is like the fracturing of my skull. The pain increases exponentially, and I am left gasping and sobbing for breath.

I stagger to my feet and take the shovel in hand once more, ignoring the mad protest in my head. It's difficult to stay upright, and shoveling is out of the question. Instead I manage to brush some of the loose dirt from the pile into the pit where I know the Millennium Puzzle lies in ruins. But even this small effort has aggravated my condition.

I cannot see the golden puzzle pieces beneath the mud. I cannot even see the trees or the darkness, or my soul room for that matter. I am beyond the threshold of pain. All I see is white; my knees buckle and give out.

And I sleep.

—I wake and do not know how long I have been gone. My head is wonderfully thick and hazy. A single glance at my surroundings from beneath heavy lids tells me I am in my bedroom. Beyond the walls of my soul room—or within, I don't know which—are my familiar trappings, my dresser, and closet, and bedroom window. And my bed, for that matter. It's warm and snug and I never want to leave.

Momentary panic draws the breath from my lungs.

Perhaps it was just a dream. Perhaps last night in the trees with all the rain was some beautiful hallucination. With a funny feeling I can't quite place, I sit up in the covers to find that I am wearing the same outfit. It is even soiled and grass-stained in the knees, proof of the evening's exploits.

I must have somehow dragged myself home, although I have no memory of it. Maybe my father came looking for me and saw me passed out in the mud. It would explain my miraculous reappearance here. And it would mean all of last night really happened.

Sunlight is pouring in through the closed blinds, and for the first time I realize the gravity of my situation: I am free. There is no pain burning through the center of my brain. There is no terrible throbbing in my head. There is, in fact, an odd sort of fuzziness up there. But I am free. And he—

Oh.

That's right; he's gone…

But something is off. A strange whisper I know I should recognize prompts me to turn my head. My gaze lands on the nightstand and the perfectly reassembled Millennium Puzzle lying there. The joints are caked with dirt, the chain is gone, the golden loop is cracked and missing a small section. But the puzzle is whole. And it is here. And he—

Oh God.

_//That's right, aibou. Did you really think it would be so easy?//_

This can't be happening. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes, and I stuff knuckles into my mouth to keep from sobbing. He's still here. But if he's here, then the pain—

_//I said I would always help you, aibou.//_

His voice is the silken pelt of a jaguar against my skin. I want so badly to be lost in the velvety folds of the sound, the warm vaults of flesh and hide and violence.

The shred of control is slipping away; it's already been ripped from my splinter-strewn hands. Horrified, I sit gnawing my knuckles while tears flow down my cheeks. This is a nightmare. It is a miracle. I feel my numbed mind begin to succumb to the purring jaguar, and already I have forgotten why that might be a bad thing.

_//I _have_ helped, aibou. You feel no pain.//_

And it is true.


End file.
